


Like Real People Do

by sweptaway



Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, Forced Prostitution, Hand Jobs, Implied/Referenced Sexual Assault, Self-Hatred, but it also Is Porn and they're Them so do with that as you will, i was roped into this but i am sorry and i'm also not, i'm sorry? i'm not, nothing's too graphic despite it being porn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-16
Updated: 2020-09-16
Packaged: 2021-03-06 17:15:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,173
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26492509
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sweptaway/pseuds/sweptaway
Summary: Finnick's never let Annie touch him until now.
Relationships: Annie Cresta/Finnick Odair
Comments: 1
Kudos: 16





	Like Real People Do

Like many times before, Finnick was kissing at Annie. This was easy to fall into the routine of, even without any motive. He simply liked kissing her, it didn’t matter where. Tonight, it was her shoulder and up her neck( then back down ). Tonight, there **was** motive. He’d been away from her for far too long, and it wasn’t that he particularly cared about the sex, more-so he’d just quite rather wrap himself up in her and **only** her to the closest extent he possibly can. Sex was just a part of that sometimes.

Like now. 

Now, when he sucked small spots following where he kissed, taking his time to ensure these spots - **bruises** , is what - were visible. Annie pet his hair, her leg up around his waist rather lazily, the intention of which was to keep him here, not move away from her, stay **exactly** here over her. She’d hum sometimes too, sigh or giggle in ways that encouraged him.  
Hickeys had been a particularly fun game lately. They’d been stabilizing above that, too. They served as a reminder of safety, of proper love, of trust. He trusted her to keep hers mostly covered, she trusted him to( rather unfortunately ) lie about who gave him those, which was typically easy enough if he couldn’t hide them himself. 

He didn’t like being possessive, he didn’t like having a reason for it, and really? He didn’t, there was no reason for it. It was just feeding into the bits of selfishness that drove him crazy. **Crazier**. 

Annie didn’t seem to mind though. He wasn’t stupid, she made it very well known how much she likes being his, how much she likes knowing he wants **her**. Surely whatever it was though couldn’t top his thrill or contentment for it. Knowing someone so safe loves him, **really** loves him. In every little reminder he can get, it’s nice to know damn well that his heart’s somewhere safe, despite what may try to interfere. 

It’s why kissing her is so nice, it doesn’t matter where he’s doing it. He kisses her, he hears and feels her react, she’s **here** , and that’s enough to keep himself sane. 

Usually. 

Right now, it’s doing a particularly good job. All he can think about is Annie, and that’s how he’d like it to stay. Annie with her hand just a bit up his sweater, Annie with her breath hitching or giggles interrupting her, Annie smacking his shoulder whenever he decided to **really** be an ass and sniff at her instead of kiss or suck which just wound up tickling, Annie who fits absolutely perfectly under his hands, or her hair which was always a bit tangled, which is something he liked too because of course he’d like being the one to stroke and untangle it. 

Her head tilted, her neck stretched, asking for just a bit more. She touched, too. Furthered her hand up his bare back, and yes, it made him shiver. How wouldn’t it? But it wasn’t anything he couldn’t shove aside, force down his throat. It wasn’t necessary, and he’d made it very clear that touching **him** would never be necessary. 

He liked touching too. Finnick grinned, kissing her jaw and moving himself just a tad bit away, looking her over, admiring his handiwork, how red he’d left her shoulder, or more specifically, where her shoulder meets her neck.  
She aimed to swat at him, he was **staring** , but she stopped halfway there, covering her face with one hand, tugging at his arm with another. 

“You’re being weird,” she said, which only made him smile more. He was **not** , and she didn’t think so either. The amused-fake-irritation was obvious just in how she tugged at him. Finnick didn’t budge yet, instead just took her hand, pressing a kiss to her wrist. 

“I’m not,” he now said, deciding to be even more rude - truly evil - and suck at where he’d just kissed. Annie pulled her hand back, shaking her head, beside herself with her entertainment. “You’re being pretty.” 

“I’m not doing anything.” It wasn’t necessarily firm or pouty, just somewhere in between. She sat herself up, her smile softening when he stroked over her hair again, pulled her head in to kiss him. They were closer this way somehow, sitting up, doing absolutely nothing but sharing breath. He didn’t care how the night would end, as long as she was happy and content. 

And satisfied, hopefully. 

“I know,” he said finally, pecking her again, sliding his hand further up her dress. It was flimsy and thin, it usually was, and he wondered if she knew the upper hand that - quite literally - gave him. “You don’t have to, you just **are**.” 

Annie hummed again, taking a generous second to search his eyes. For what, he had no idea, but her gaze was warm and he was foolish enough to return it without question. She was captivating, she always was, and he would soak in it as much as he could.  
With this, though, his hand splayed over the back of her thigh, quite obviously considering the options. She kissed **him** this time, which made the decision for him. That was quite easy, he laid her back down, he moved her hair so she wasn’t laying on it and hurting herself. Finnick would have loved to study her again, look at the silly little lovemarks he’d left, but she refused to stop kissing him and he was only at her mercy. 

He moved his hand, thumb brushing the hem of her underwear, smirk easing up his cheeks, and then she grabbed him. 

It almost startled him, but she did it anyway. Gently, but it was enough to interrupt his thought process. He blinked, raising an eyebrow, watching her entwine their fingers which she then kissed. 

“You’re teasing.” Finnick stated, both eyebrows up now. “That’s not very fair.” 

“I’m not doing anything.” Annie repeated, perhaps realizing she was doing that at all and finding her own grin. 

“Yes you are,” he argued, which was only fair since **she** was so argumentative tonight. “You know what you’re doing.” 

“I’d like to.” 

Her voice was far too soft to be teasing, which only caused him to wrinkle his face and move forward, burying in against her neck again. “You do.” He murmured, kissing over a bruise, causing her to let go of his hand. “Do you want me to stop?” 

Annie shook her head. 

Finnick smiled, fingers grazing her thigh again when he nodded. “Then I won’t.” It was easy, he had simple wishes. He wanted to help her feel good, maybe lose herself to pleasure for just a moment, hold her when she crashed. It was **simple** , she knew what he wanted as well as he did. It’s not like he was particularly subtle. 

“I want to touch you,” 

He paused. **That** was always a damper.  
She knew his pause wasn’t just to hang suspension, it **wasn’t** teasing. It was him calculating his next move and next breath to a T. He was obvious about that too. 

“Finnick,” Annie pushed, tilting her head so his hiding in her neck was a little less hidden. “I **want** to, I want to see you.” 

He’d agree to that. He moved, letting her move her hand from the back of his neck to his cheek. He wasn’t upset, but this was always a topic he had no idea how to face. One he’d much rather run from. It was stupid, he knew that much. He was **used** to being touched and this should be no different. But **this** wasn’t exactly like **that**. This was something she had wanted to do for **him**. This was her expecting something good to be somewhere that’s just not present. She couldn’t gain anything, all it’d do is run the risk of messing up to some new extent. Scare her, maybe. 

Or maybe, of course, it’d help her see him exactly how he sees himself, and he’d really rather put the disappointment off to some much later date. It’s not like he’d be hurt by **not** being touched. 

And he trusted her, it’d be impossible not to. But he knew many things, and one of those was that she was much too good for him. He believed her when she said she loved him, but feelings and trust can change far too quickly. As selfish as it is, he can’t lose her because of something else he messed up.  
Annie could see the gears turn in his head. She brushed her thumb over his cheek, making him fix his eye contact and once again return her gaze. “You trust me,” she says. Finnick nods. “So let me in.” 

Again, he nods. 

“More,” she corrects, putting her free hand to his chest. “I don’t like it when you hide from me. It hurts you.” 

It doesn’t. 

“I don’t like to see you hurt.” 

Now he breathes, letting out a stubborn “Annie” with some equally stubborn roll to his eyes, like he was physically digging his heels in the sand. “I’m not … hurt, I just don’t want …” 

“ … me to touch you?” 

That’s more startling than he’d like. Something about the concern in her voice. “No.” Finnick shakes his head, leaning a bit more into her hand. He’s firm with this. 

“You mean that?” She’s not insecure at this moment, not entirely. She just wants the truth. She doesn’t want to hurt him. 

“Yes. Annie, I just .. I want to do things right.” 

“Is this wrong?” 

Of course, she wasn’t the **most** experienced, and he knew that better than anyone. It wasn’t fair to lead her down some way that just wasn’t true. Even still, it was a struggle just to get out another “No”. 

“Then let me touch you,” Annie sat up again, not moving his hand this time. She kept her touch by his face and chest, making sure he saw her and moved with her. She kissed him once, twice, then moved to his neck. When she kissed **there** , it brought a breath out of him. It was gentle and small, but lingering, enough. “It’s only fair; you can’t touch me if I can’t touch you.” Another kiss, this time slower, as if it were softening the blow of her compromise. “It’s fair.” 

It took him a minute. Finnick closed his eyes and considered what she said. It’s fair. He wasn’t used to things being very fair, but he should’ve known better here. He should’ve known that Annie - good, safe Annie - would never want anything less than fair. Which begs the next point; “You don’t **have** to.” 

She raised her head again, smiling gently, stroking his cheek. “I know.” There was laughter in her voice, like this was common knowledge. Like he was dumb, only she wasn’t mocking him, just guiding, correcting, fixing. 

“But you’ve never --” 

“I’ll figure it out,” Annie kept her smile present, blatantly calming him to the point that he closed his eyes. “You can help me.” She kissed his cheek, then the shell of his ear. Finnick smiled a bit, almost breathing out a laugh. 

“I’m good at that.” A bit of cockiness returned to him, his smile more cheeky. He wasn’t entirely content, but there was optimism, which she let settle, taking her time to kiss at him, finding various spots to press her lips, various spots which tricked him into breathing when the air caught in his throat, which then became another place she kissed, this time lasting so long he wondered if she’d suck there. 

She didn’t, which was fair, it was an awkward position for that. Instead she was a bit greedy, taking advantage of his recent return home and the knowledge that that meant he could have privacy for long enough to heal any bruises. Her mouth found purchase just below his jaw, underneath his ear. Finnick nearly gasped, which only made her smile. It was now that she moved out from under him, when her lips on him made him pliable enough to shift. 

When she did break suction, he noticed she’d stood up. For a second, his expression flashed, but Annie managed to soothe him in that same moment, thumbing over the already almost-dark bruise she’d just left on him. 

“Good?” He asked, to which she only hummed curiously in response to. Finnick clarified, “Is it good?” while rearranging where and how he sat. Her intentions were obvious, and he’d hesitantly comply so long as he was distracted. He sat at the head of the bed now, watching her giggle. 

“The …?” 

“Mhm, you’re an octopus,” he nodded, his voice almost slurring. “Hickey.” 

Annie flushed, now she was the one to roll her eyes. He **knew** what she meant, he only repeated it to make her flustered. “Yes,” she knelt on the bed in front of him, pausing before she spoke, as if she were tasting how the words felt in her mouth before she said them. “Can you ... your shirt? Can you take it off?” 

That was met with a small noise, between an uncomfortable huff and a chuckle. He nodded nonetheless, then pulling the fabric up impatiently, almost struggling to yank the sleeves off. He would have slowed down, but he wanted this part over quicker. The pre-expected, lingering shame of undressing. But he found it odd, because when his sweater was discarded, that shame never quite caught up. Instead he just smiled, somewhat bashfully, when Annie’s face lit up, her hands finding his stomach, which tensed under them. 

“You’re wonderful,” she said, kissing his chest. Finnick only laughed, to which Annie restated what she said. “You **are** , you’re wonderful. You’re **cute**.” 

His laugh grew more genuine with what she said, with how innocent it was compared to her hands lowering, tugging at the waistline to his pants. He helped her undo them, with all the decorative buttons and zippers. She could’ve handled it on her own, but it was more an excuse for him to have control, and to touch her. But he did let go, he let her work them down his legs, he didn’t close his legs when she repeated this with his underwear, letting these down significantly easier than the previous. The only struggle was when Finnick winced, sharply turning his head in towards his shoulder. 

“Finnick,” she said, gaining his attention just enough to make him breathe. Still, he didn’t move, trying to hide what he’d already done. “Finnick, I want to **see** you.” 

He awkwardly rolled his ankle, nodding and taking a breath. Finally, he looked back at her, her pupils blown wide, her eyes full of too much to name, but he’d sure like to try. 

( Love, he knew. Trust. Desire beyond sex, but want for fulfillment. Pride, perhaps, if he squinted. ) 

“There you are,” her voice was so incredibly soft. Softer than the mattress, softer than sand, softer than clouds— perhaps she **is** a cloud. 

Her hands are soft too, despite the callouses from years of tying knots out of rope and various jewelry cords. She touches his face again, delicate and careful, as she adjusted herself on the bed in front of him, knee gently between his legs.  
Her fingertip reaches his bottom lip, where she presses a slow kiss, thumbing along his jaw. Annie pulls away, finally being able to really look at him, completely. She’s never seen him naked, and he never planned to make her. Her face was bright red( as red as his body felt, he was fairly certain ) and her entire expression softened with indisputable adoration. Gentle hands found his waist, palms and fingertips slid forward, taking in every reaction and touch. 

It wasn’t hard to get a reaction out of him. It was like she caressed him, every curve and edge and broken crack, she held it together, she mended it. He held his breath, trying to calm himself, unable to when her fingers danced over his hips, then his thighs, drumming somewhat as she looked down at him, expecting some answer beyond intuition. 

The staring felt awkward. “Do you need—“ 

“No,” she shook her head, eyes meeting his so quickly he could’ve jumped. “no .. I want to figure it out,” Annie brought herself forward, kissing his collarbone. “I want you to feel good.”  
Her kisses were so slow it was difficult to argue— difficult to really think at all. She knew the effect she had on him, she knew how easy he was to melt, and it wasn’t so bad. 

Except for when she finally touched him, and even without doing anything, he felt fire. Eyes screwed shut, Finnick hummed. He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t already hard, but like he said, he likes kissing her, he likes the sounds she makes. 

He likes how she touched him, apparently. A bit too hesitant, but it’s there. 

Or it **was**. She had grabbed him, hand careful against the shaft, and that was it. She told him not to help, but it was obvious she didn’t know yet what she was doing at all. 

And that’s okay. 

He nosed at her hair, got her attention enough for her to look at him again, so that when he put his hand over hers, down on himself, he could see her expression shift, curious concern - and embarrassment? - washing over her face.  
But that calmed down as quickly as it appeared. “It’s okay,” Finnick said. She had said earlier that he could help, he’d use it, he wanted to. Lend a hand. 

Quickly, she kissed him, then her head was against his shoulder while she looked down at how he guided her. 

It was still awkward, but that was also fine. Every bump in the road made him stay on track, remember that Annie’s different, Annie’s safe, Annie wants **him** safe. 

Which is why after trying to dryly guide her into some rhythm, **something** to gain friction that wasn’t uncomfortable, he eventually trusted himself enough to speak. 

“It helps if you —“ 

And then **he** felt embarrassed. She looked at him slower than before, but explaining things while her hands were on him, while her eyes were so genuine and her body was so close, felt wrong. He froze up, including his hand. 

This was great. 

She kissed his cheek, directly under his eye. 

This was **actually** great. 

Finnick breathed. “Um … if you …” 

Annie kissed his mouth, clearly trying to ease his mind back to himself, keep him present. He **was** present, but the thought was nice anyway. One of his hands found her cheek, pulled her head back to stop the kiss prematurely. She kept looking him over, asking if he was alright. 

Of course he was. 

Felt awkward, but it was alright. He’d work through that.  
That’s why his thumb lingers over the top of her mouth, growing curious at what he might be allowed. The pad of his thumb dragged over the parting of her lips, feeling awestruck just at the most basic functions of how Annie works. Her confusion was obvious, but there was just as much contentment that matched the expression— he couldn't be concerned. 

Instead, Finnick pushed his thumb between her lips, into her mouth, over her tongue. The feeling made his legs tingle, which made him nearly smile. Her gaze was so soft, confusion twisting into curiosity. It was quiet, voice broken by some weird cloud of lust, but he told her to “suck” and she followed suit, eyes firmly on his as if she was worried she could mess this up. 

He was going to faint. 

In a very positive way, but it was overwhelming. He was going to faint. 

Sure, it went on for longer than he knew was necessary, but it felt nice. It wasn’t even avoidance of the bigger picture, it was just **nice**. 

He pulled his hand away from her mouth, thumb leaving with almost a pop sound, which almost made them both laugh. Finnick kissed her chin, licked over his palm, and found her eyes again, quietly instructed her to move her hands “for a second”, just while he slicked himself. 

It’d absolutely be easier if he had oil, or **some** kind of lubricant, but he didn’t trust himself to get half dressed, get up and return to this. If he left now, he’d run. His brain would clear and he’d panic. There’s no panic here, only calm ( though shooting ) pleasure as he brings her hand back to him, pressing her thumb now into his head, tears flooding his eyes, which he then closed. 

He was okay. He wouldn’t cry, not over this. 

He helped her with pacing herself, and it was easy to get her to pump him when she was already so bouncy. Without asking, she brought her second hand down around him again, dissatisfied with the previous distance. 

She surely wasn’t an expert, his hand still stayed in the mess of hers as she copied what he did— stroking, pumping, pressing **there** and almost making his ears go deaf to all sounds except his heartbeat. He tried to match pace, but as always, she was overzealous. 

So yes, he did cry. It felt **good** , he’d wanted her to touch him for the longest time, but that was always a selfish thought he forced back into his mind, never surfaced. It **almost** had, on her victory tour, but it wasn’t quite that. She didn’t touch him, he touched her. Now, she was quick to figure out how it worked, what was the most sensitive. She’s always learned best through experience, he supposed it shouldn’t be any different when she’s got his dick in her hands. 

Finnick bit down hard on his lip, biting back any noise he could. It was difficult; he whined, occasionally groaned just under his breath, he slipped **too** much to where it was frustrating. Even just bucking up, into her hands, felt too selfish. She already had him, why was there a need for more? 

Still, her name slipped past his lips and she immediately clung onto that, kissing at his mouth. “Stop biting,” she said, her tongue running over what could have been the injury, and then it was in a dance with his own, forcing him to loosen up more. She kissed him, she worked him— not just him, it’s his cock, plain as day, but the thought rings painfully. She’s gentle, there’s no need to be vulgar.  
A moan slipped out and he moved his hips back, tipping his head a bit away, leaving her to wetly kiss down to his jaw. 

“Please,” she said, pressing her thumb into him again, otherwise stalling her other movements, which nearly burned. She didn’t know that, of course, but it felt numbing, the almost detachment of her grip driving him crazy, the heat all a bit too much. “Please, I like it. I like to hear you,” it wasn’t begging, but that descriptor wasn’t exactly **off**. “I really want to.” 

“Annie ..” 

“Are you crying?” 

“Annie, move your hands—“ and she **did** , and the shock of it let another moan out, his head falling onto her shoulder, letting his hips drive up towards her touch. More would be nice, as close as possible. 

“Let me hear you,” she said, almost cooed, kissing his hair and smiling when he **did** , just a bit. A shaky, scrambled breath that didn’t ever quite finish. Her voice wasn’t exactly sultry, but it was Annie. The touch wasn’t perfect, but that was Annie too. It was easier than it should be to get lost in it, quiet, fragile breaths and moans leaving his throat and making her shift her hands each time— a new speed, or she’d stroke circles along the flesh, or she’d copy him and lick her hand, make him more slippery **and** make him wonder what she’s thinking about tasting him. 

Would he ever trust himself enough for her to put his mouth down there? Or if he was granted the confidence to actually push **inside** of her? It’d be warm, it’d be coming home. 

This is warm. 

He’s going to lose his mind. 

“Annie, please,” he didn’t know what he was begging for. He wasn’t begging for **anything** , there was just that feeling building in his gut and suddenly it was all a bit too much. 

“Breathe,” Annie said gently when she felt his back tense, stilling his motions. He tried, but that was impossible without crying more. And when he went quiet again, noises coming out strangled, she kissed his shoulder, his neck, until his body fell closer to slack, his head tilted up instead of hiding in her. “Finnick—“ she murmured, taking liberty to suck spots on his chest, and he lost himself more to her, the closeness, how they tangled, making it easier. 

It was only them in the world. No consequences, the only bruises being out of affection, the only overwhelm coming from **pleasure**. It might be annoying how hard it was to keep himself quiet, but if he thought about it, there was really no need for restraint anyway.  
So yes, he kept losing himself, falling in with the routine of rolling his hips, humming when he bit his lip, moaning and stifling it against her wherever he could. He said they were tangled for a reason— her lips could be on his chest while he’s hiding in against her shoulder, her kisses could travel up to his neck and he’d connect his lips to her shoulder. It was in sync, **much** like a dance. Her hands were awkward and a bit too fast, he’d tear up, and murmur her name on repeat. 

It was too much.  
“Annie,” he said, much less a moan, but instead as steady of a word that he could manage. “Annie, I’m too —“ Close. He couldn’t get that word out, and she barely listened, taking it as insecurity. 

It **wasn’t**. He just didn’t particularly want to cum in her hands. He’d rather wait, or just **not** altogether. He doesn’t want to make a mess, he doesn’t want to discourage her. 

Still, he was fairly certain that she had no idea what he was up to, or feeling. He was sure he didn’t make it that obvious. 

That’s why he was clung to her shoulder and waist, arm around her even as that only made what she was doing more difficult. He worried his nails dug into her skin, which made him shakily smooth out his hand, properly sprawl it out against her now. Hold her close. 

“I should stop.” Finnick mumbled despite all attempts to stay present. 

She kissed his neck. “You’re okay.” 

He nodded. “I know,” he hummed. “I know, I just—“ 

“You’re okay,” Annie repeated, moving herself so he’d look at her, his breath hitching when their eyes met. 

“You’re good, Annie.”  
Not particularly great at **this** yet, and maybe she’d never be any expert at handjobs. But she was genuine, she tried. She wasn’t just made for sex like him, she learned, she listened. And beyond that, she’s **always** listened and learned, she’s been patient with him. He looks at her and sees safety, and home. He sees his life and something worth living for out of it. Someone who’s immovable despite her struggles; she’s always been a perfect person, to him. Annie could never change. No matter how many times she falls, or they fight, or she kicks sand at him while trying to get his attention, there will always be something more important.  
Like laughter, or touches under shirts when they really should be more careful, or stupid little kisses hiding in a cave— in **her** cave, or necklaces she gives him to protect and heal him, or necklaces he tries - but fails - to recreate. 

But she smiles anyway, she grins, or she laughs, or she squeals. She hugs him. 

“You’re good.” Annie repeats back, everything aside from her voice going sharp and fuzzy, like when it’s raining and he decides to swim anyway. 

Surrounded, but not sinking. It wasn’t dangerous, or scary, it was familiar and warm and uncontrollable in the only way he trusts. This was like that. This was like laying on a beach with her while a big, nearly harsh wave crashed over them. 

He came before he could reconsider stopping himself, nearly shouting, nearly **cursing** perhaps, but recalling anything was quite blurry. He knew she got up, he knew he sat there for quite some time, and he knew that the loneliness of her leaving led him to cry again, or just cry **harder** , he supposed. It wasn’t bad, not entirely, because he felt airy. He felt the lightest he’d felt in months, it was very good. But **was it** good? Or did he mess up, that’s why she’s gone? He was too much, he was bad, he was **gross**. 

He knows he is, that’s frustrating. He **knows** , but putting the words to Annie’s mind just burns. 

Before they can get too far, she shows up again. She has a cloth, and Finnick just now realizes that she scurried off to clean herself up. 

He wipes his eyes, sniffling quietly. “Sorry.” 

“That’s okay,” she says. He’s still obviously dizzy, so she takes it upon herself to wipe him and the bed down. She notices him crying, but she can see happiness behind his eyes and puts off asking if he’s alright. “You cursed.” 

“Sorry.” 

Annie grins. “ **Not** okay,” she said, which made Finnick blink and look back up to her with nearly a startle. “Those are bad words.” 

He smiled a bit more, he tried to breathe. “I like bad words. I know a lot of them.” 

“Gross,” she chimed. This time, the word didn’t make him feel disgusting, it just made him laugh, which made **her** laugh. “Stay here, I’ll be right back.” 

And again, she hurried off. It barely took a minute before she was back, burying herself into his side. The numbness began to lighten, especially when he pulled his arms around her and she laughed again. 

“What’s funny?” 

“You are,” Annie says, moving to kiss his neck, pull the blankets up over them. “You didn’t get dressed.” 

“I forgot.” Finnick was, admittedly, grinning again. He wondered if it was because he was **actually** upset, or just tired from euphoria. He supposes the differences should be obvious. 

With her, it’s easier. 

“You like it.” He moved, turned, faced her now. His hand found her thigh, but not in any particularly productive way. He just wanted her close. 

Still, she kissed the bridge of his nose. “No more tonight.” she said, as if expecting him to try and return the favor. 

Maybe he was. Annie always seemed to know him better than he knew himself, because it was now that he relaxed more, stopped **trying** to move. 

“Was it okay?” He asked, and she nodded, stroking through his hair as Finnick laid his head down on her. 

“You’re still gross, though.” She almost chirped, feeling him smile against her chest. “And cute,” she kissed his head. “Very cute.”


End file.
